


Courage in Unusual Places

by JhanaMay



Series: I'll be the one, if you want me to [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Hospitals, M/M, Parent Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 18:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12917808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: It's been seven years since Castiel Novak came into Dean and Ben Winchester's lives and changed them for the better. They've had their ups and downs, but no matter how much Cas has taught Dean about life and love, parenting Ben still manages to throw them some curve balls.A Say Something Time Stamp





	Courage in Unusual Places

**Author's Note:**

> It's hard to believe it's been almost two years since I posted the last chapter of Say Something. I've always had the idea of writing time stamps, and maybe even an actual sequel or two, for this universe, but there was always something else that needed to be written. I participated in NaNoWriMo this year, and that gave me the push I needed to actually get the words out. I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into Dean, Cas, and Ben's lives a few years later.

The Impala’s tires squeal in protest as Dean takes the corner too fast. He’s trying not to push it on the tiny residential streets, but the call from the school scared him more than he wants to admit. After being so close to Woodlawn, Liberty Memorial feels as if it’s on the other side of the city. Moving to the larger elementary after third grade had been a transition, but the middle school is a whole new ball game. If not having Cas in the same building was rough, it’s even harder now.

Dean glances at his phone as he crosses the bridge, but the screen is dark. He texted Cas as he was leaving the shop, but Cas still hasn’t replied. Dean isn’t especially concerned, as his husband has never been great at checking his messages during the school day, but it would be nice to have a little reassurance. He tried to get an appointment with Dr. Lewis, Ben’s pediatrician, but the office is booked solid the rest of the day. He isn’t particularly looking forward to driving to Urgent Care by himself.

There’s no visitor lot at Liberty Memorial, so Dean finds a spot on the street and locks the Impala before heading inside. After four years of walking right into Woodlawn, stopping to get buzzed in took some getting used to. So did going through the metal detectors. He throws his keys and cell phone on the table and steps through the metal arch. The lights blink green, and the security guard directs him to the office.

“Hi there,” the perky blond at the desk greets as he walks through the door. “I bet you’re Ben Winchester’s dad.”

Dean freezes, brows drawing together in confusion. Though he’s been in the school a few times since September, he’s never seen this secretary. “Uh, how’d you—”

“Oh,” she cuts in with a bubble of laughter. “He’s the only kiddo in with the nurse and you look worried.” She shrugs and adds with another small chuckle, “Plus, he’s got your eyes.”

“Okay,” Dean says with an awkward pause.

“Anyway, I let her know you’re here. He’s on his way out.”

Dean waits by the desk, keeping one eye on the creepy secretary until Ben pushes through the door. He’s pale but otherwise seems to be fine, and he smiles wanly when he sees Dean.

A dark-haired woman in scrubs comes through the door behind him and holds out a small slip of paper. “This is a list of his vitals right after the incident. A minor fainting episode is often nothing dangerous, but it’s better to have things checked out just in case.”

Dean takes the paper and slips it into his pocket with a nod. “His doctor didn’t have any openings, so we’re gonna head to Urgent Care. Do I need to bring any paperwork back from them?”

“Only if you think it’s something that will impact his health and safety at school. Of course, if he’s not feeling well enough to make it in tomorrow, he’ll need an excuse.”

“Sure, that’s no problem. If he won’t be in, I’ll call the absentee line,” Dean assures her. He takes Ben’s backpack and shoulders it before leading him out of the building.

Dean throws the bag into the back seat and waits until Ben fastens his seatbelt before starting the car. “I don’t want to get shots,” Ben says in a small voice as Dean pulls away from the curb.

It took Dean and three nurses to restrain Ben the last time he got shots, so Dean doesn’t want that either. “I doubt there will be shots, bud. They’re just gonna check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

Ben frowns dramatically and clicks his tongue a few times. It’s one of Ben’s new stims, but he only does it when he’s keyed up. “I might be dying.”

Dean makes a left at the next street and rolls his eyes while he’s looking away. When he turns back to his son, he’s the image of appropriate concern. Now that he’s seen that Ben looks fine, he’s not as worried as he’d been on the drive to the school. “You’re not dying, Ben,” he says. Ben has become a bit of a hypochondriac in the last few years. “Tell me what happened.”

With a small shrug, Ben curls against the door. “It smelled like the time you left the bowl of cheese soup on the workbench for a week, and I couldn’t breathe right. It was making my eyes hurt, but Miss Morgan said it wasn’t that bad.”

While keeping his eyes on the afternoon traffic, Dean tries to follow. Though Ben’s gotten better at telling a story, he still sometimes starts in the middle, and it takes a few tries to figure out the details. Jackie, the speech therapist Ben sees at the clinic Pam referred them to, has been working on it with him. “Miss Morgan? So, you were in art class?” At Ben’s nod, Dean guesses, “The paint smelled bad? Or was it something else?”

“It was the paint, but it wasn’t right paint. It’s not the paint Cas uses, and it burned my nose.” Ben picks at the edge of his sweatshirt and pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth to click a few more times. Finally, he looks up with a frown. “Allie made a painting of Smaug, but Austin Kemmery said it didn’t look like Smaug in the movies, so it couldn’t be Smaug. Allie was sad, and I told Austin to mind his own business because it was artistic license. He’s such a jerk.”

This isn’t the first time Ben has mentioned his dislike for Austin Kemmery. Dean glosses over the digression to focus on getting the story he’ll need for the doctors. “Yeah, I’ve heard that about Austin. Did you ask Miss Morgan to let you take a break?” Ben’s Individualized Education Plan addresses his sensory processing issues, and if he needs to leave the room or get his noise-canceling headphones, they’re supposed to let him.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I did, Dad. I said the paint smells like your moldy broccoli and cheddar soup and can I go to the bathroom so it doesn’t asphyxiate me, but she made a face and said the paint can’t smell like soup and it wouldn’t kill me.” He turns to Dean with wide eyes. “How does she know? Does she go around smelling moldy cheese soup? The paint could be a biochemical weapon, and it’s meant to turn us into zombies. She can’t know that. She could have been putting our lives at risk.”

Dean sighs. He needs to check out what video games Ben has been downloading. “I don’t think your teacher is trying to start a zombie apocalypse, but we will have a talk with her about following your IEP. So, she wouldn’t let you go to the bathroom. When did you pass out?”

“I had to get as far away from the moldy cheese paint as I could, so I went over in the corner and sat at the table where Jacob Snyder fell back on his chair three months ago and busted his head open. The janitor came and cleaned up the blood, but if you look real hard, you can still see it. I was leaning back to see if I could see the blood and my eyes went black and fuzzy and I fell over on the heater.” He pauses for a breath and to click his tongue a couple times. “Miss Morgan said she was gonna send me to the principal if I didn’t stop goofing around but Kylie said I wasn’t goofing and that I looked sick and she thought I got dizzy and passed out. So Miss Morgan gave me a pass and sent me to the nurse.”

With a frown, Dean makes the right to head up to the hospital. He’s heard rumblings about Miss Morgan since the beginning of the year. It didn’t seem to get to Ben, so he and Cas decided to wait and see how it developed. Looks as if a parent-teacher conference is in order. Dean reaches over and runs his hand across the back of Ben’s head. “Did you hit your head?”

Ben clicks and shakes his head. “The heater was blowing hot air, and my cheek landed on the vent, but it didn’t burn. Miss Morgan wouldn’t even feel sorry if I got a third-degree burn from the heater.”

Dean isn’t sure what to say about Miss Morgan’s level of compassion—or the likelihood of getting third-degree burns from the heater—so he’s relieved when his phone rings. He pushes the speakerphone icon and cuts off Cas’ immediate panicked litany with, “He’s okay. I’ve got him, and you’re on speakerphone.” The last thing they need is Cas saying something while he’s upset that Ben repeats at school.

“What happened?”

“He got dizzy and fainted a little in art class.” Dean looks over at Ben, but he’s facing away with his forehead pressed against the glass.

“Fainted a little?” Cas repeats with strained emphasis. “How do you faint a little? You either lose consciousness or you don’t lose consciousness, Dean.”

With a sigh, Dean puts on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot at Urgent Care and runs a hand over his face. “Just what I said, he fainted a little. Only for a second from the way it sounds. The smells in art class were too much, and the teacher wouldn’t let him take a break.”

There’s a beat of silence and Dean knows Cas is mediating his response. “We’re talking about Miss Morgan, I presume?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Miss Morgan.” Of course, he picked up on that right away. Is there any doubt why Dean loves this man so much?

“She violated his IEP,” Cas says with a slight growl in his already deep voice.

Dean pushes down the little shiver of arousal he always gets when Cas lets his badass side out. “Yeah, I’d say she did.”

“I’ll phone the school and request a meeting for tomorrow afternoon,” Cas replies. In the past seven years, Cas has become an even bigger advocate for Ben than he was when he was only Ben’s teacher. Not that he was ever only Ben’s teacher.

“Sounds good, babe. Let me know what time, and I’ll be there.” There’s nothing on Dean’s schedule tomorrow he can’t rearrange. Ben always comes first. “We’re pulling into Urgent Care now. I’ll call you when we leave.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over there?”

Even though Dean would welcome having Cas to lean on, there’s no point in Cas leaving school early. “Nah, we got this. It’s just a checkup.”

Ben turns from the window with a start. “What if we’re not home to feed Samson and Delilah? They’ll starve and have to escape and forage for food in the wild like Fireheart and Tigerclaw.”

For once, Dean recognizes the reference since they’ve been reading the Warrior Cats books before bed for what feels like years. “They don’t need fed until bedtime. We’ll be home in plenty of time to feed them, no foraging required. Even if we’re not, Cas will be there.”

“I promised to feed them treats during TV time tonight. Dad, can you give them treats if we’re not there? Maybe I’ll have to stay in the hospital, and I don’t want to violate their trust.” Even after all this time, it still makes Dean misty-eyed when Ben calls Cas _Dad._

There’s a soft chuckle, quickly stifled, and Cas assures him, “Of course, Ben. If you’re late, I will give them treats, though I’m confident you won’t have to stay overnight.”

“We’re not going to the hospital,” Dean reminds him as they get out of the car. “This is Urgent Care for when you need to see a doctor but your doctor doesn’t have any appointments.”

“That’s the hospital,” Ben points out, gesturing to the massive building behind the clinic.

“It is,” Dean agrees, “but we’re not going there.”

Cas chuckles again. “I better get back to class. Good luck, Dean, and I hope you’re feeling better, Ben. Let me know when you’re leaving there, and I’ll run to the Roadhouse for dinner.”

“Sounds good, babe. Love ya.”

Ben drags his heels on the way into the clinic, but at least he’s not melting down. Dean puts his arm around Ben’s shoulder to keep him moving and Ben leans into him. He hums under his breath as they walk, but it’s so soft no one else will even notice.

There are two people in front of them at the registration desk, but the line moves quickly. When they’re standing in front of the frazzled woman behind the counter, Dean motions to Ben. “My son passed out in class today, so we wanted to get him checked out. His doctor is booked, and they suggested we come here.”

The woman scrunches up her mouth and shakes her head, her frizzy brown curls bobbing. “You might be better off taking him up the ER,” she says, and Dean’s stomach drops. “If he needs any tests, we don’t have the equipment here.”

Ben whines and grabs onto Dean’s arm. “Dad, you said no hospital. I don’t—”

“It’s okay, Ben, just wait,” Dean says, squeezing Ben’s shoulder before turning back to the woman. “He seems fine, but the school thought he should see a doctor.”

The woman’s eyes flick to the people behind Ben and Dean in line and she shakes her head again. “It would be better if you went up to the emergency room,” she repeats. “It will take longer if our doc ends up not being able to treat him.” She pastes on a tired smile. “Less waiting for you if you don’t have to wait twice.”

Dean lets out an exasperated sigh. Nothing ever goes smoothly. “Fine, thanks. We’ll go up there.” He takes Ben by the arm and maneuvers him out of line, but Ben plants his feet before they get to the door and pulls away

“You said no hospital, Dad. I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he says, his pitch rising in intensity.

The nerve behind Dean’s right eye twitches, and he reaches up to push against his temple with two fingers. “Listen, bud. It’s fine. We’ll just walk up and get you checked out and we’ll be home by dinnertime.”

“My eyes are fine. They’re not dizzy at all. We can go home and you can tell the nurse we saw the doctor, and I was okay,” Ben pleads.

Dean grabs Ben’s arm again and tugs him out through the double glass doors. “I’m not gonna lie to your school. Now knock it off and let’s get this over with,” he snaps more harshly than he intended. As they walk around the side of the building to the ER entrance, he considers calling Cas to come over. It makes no sense for them both to waste their afternoon sitting at the hospital, but not being alone would be nice.

Ben practically vibrates with tension while Dean checks him in at the front desk. The waiting room is empty, but Dean is still surprised when an older woman in pink scrubs calls them not long after they sit down. He puts one arm around Ben’s shoulders to guide him through the hallways after the nurse.

“Step up here, sweetie, and let me get your height and weight,” she says, motioning toward the scale against the wall. Ben hesitates until Dean pushes him forward, and he steps up onto the machine. He hums, clicking every few seconds, as the woman notes his measurements. “Okay, blood pressure next,” she says, motioning to the chair next to the desk, and he takes a step backward.

“It hugs my arm too tight,” Ben says, eying the blood pressure cuff.

The woman raises a brow and looks at Dean. There is always a point at which Dean struggles with whether to mention Ben’s Autism. Talking about it still doesn’t come easily to him. Most of the time, Ben’s quirks are so mild it’s easy to ignore them, but sometimes Ben’s rigidity causes enough issues that it’s better to explain. Dean isn’t sure which case this is yet.

“It’s okay, honey. It only squeezes a little,” she cajoles, guiding Ben into the chair. He glances over, and Dean gives him what he hopes is a reassuring look.

Ben presses his tongue into his cheek—making him look like a crazed chipmunk—and holds out his arm, stiff as a board. The nurse slides the cuff on his arm, and Dean perches on the edge of the hard plastic chair while the machine inflates it.

“There now,” the nurse says with a smile. She presses the stethoscope to the inside of his elbow. “That’s not too bad, right?”

Ben holds still as a statue throughout the whole procedure and doesn’t answer until she pulls the cuff off his arm. He rubs it dramatically and gives her a blank stare. “I hope it doesn’t give me an embolism.”

Dean almost swallows his tongue and looks at the floor so he doesn’t have to meet the nurse’s eye. This might be a good time to mention Ben’s diagnosis.

“I have a few questions I need ask you, okay, honey?” the nurse says before Dean can figure out what to say.

“Is it a quiz? I’m good at tests, but quizzes make my head hurt,” Ben says, tongue clicking between the words. The nurse glances over at Dean, who bites the inside of his cheek. While Ben associates tests with something he can prepare for, quizzes are given with no warning. Ben doesn’t do well with anything when there’s no warning.

“It’s neither. Just a couple questions you know the answers to,” she explains. “Are you in any pain today?”

Ben thinks it over, his eyes doing to a complicated pattern of widening and narrowing, and shakes his head. “Not right now. Kylie said my cheek was red after I fell, but it doesn’t hurt.”

The nurse marks his answer with a tiny smile. “Okay, good. Are you afraid of anything?”

Ben glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye and fidgets in the chair. “I’m afraid all the time,” he whispers with three quick clicks.

The nurse’s gaze snaps up at Dean, and he freezes. What the hell?

“What are you afraid of?” she asks, angling her body so Ben looks at her and not Dean. Like she needs to protect Ben from him.

“I shouldn’t say.”

Dean’s chest constricts with panic. Is someone hurting him, or is he just being Ben? “It’s okay, Ben. If something is making you afraid, you can tell.”

“Does something or someone hurt you?” the nurse asks, her voice taking on a chillier tone. Dean wants to yell that he is the last person who would ever hurt his son.

“No,” Ben says. He squeezes this arm where the cuff had been. “Not right now.”

The nurse looks over at Dean as if she’s weighing him. The thought makes Dean sick to his stomach. “Do you want me to go out in the hallway?” That should make it clear he isn’t trying to hide anything. “If you have something you want to tell the nurse and you don’t want to say it in front of me, I can go out.”.

Ben’s eyes go wide, and he clicks louder. “No! No, don’t go, Dad. I can tell.”

The nurse’s face scrunches up and she leans in closer to Ben.

“You never know,” Ben hisses.

“Know what?” The nurse gives Dean another sharp look before turning back.

“You have to be careful. You never know. There could be a sniper hiding in any bush.”

The nurse’s brows pull together into a frown, and she leans back. “A sniper?”

For fuck’s sake. Dean bites back a groan. They’re going to have a long talk about Ben’s video games when they get home. He knows exactly which one brought this on. “He plays too many video games,” Dean offers with a shrug, wishing he had explained Ben’s diagnosis at the beginning.

“Do you think a sniper will hurt you?” she asks as if she still isn’t sure what Ben means.

“They could,” Ben says with an emphatic nod. “Snipers are sneaky. They hide where you can’t see them. Justin didn’t want to be on the red team because blue has better sharpshooters. If you’re not careful, they will get you when you’re not paying attention. Keep your eyes wide open.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He’s talking about a video game,” he says again. “Team Fortress 2.”

For a moment, the nurse looks as if she’ll persist. Ben clicks loudly and bounces his feet on the floor. She glances back and forth between them before leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “Okay,” she says, marking something on the paper. Dean would give his left arm to see what it says. “Let’s get you set up in a room.”

Ben latches onto Dean’s arm as they leave the room, squeezing so hard it hurts. Dean crosses his chest with his other arm and closes his hand over Ben’s.

The nurse leads them past several open doors to a small room at the end. Inside, a curtain splits the room down the middle, and she takes them to the bed on the right. The room is ringed by various machines, and Ben’s eyes widen further with every step they take. His hands spasm on Dean’s arm and Dean squeezes his hand again.

“You can just hop up here,” the nurse says, patting the bed.

Ben looks from her to Dean and takes a step back. Dean takes a fortifying breath and pulls him forward. “It’s okay. Have a seat and we’ll see the doctor and go home.”

“They can’t keep me here, Dad. You promised. I have to feet Samson and Delilah. They’ll be mad if the doctors keep me here.”

“No one is keeping you,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice even. “The doc will make sure you’re okay and that’s it.”

“But I feel fine. We could go home. I’m not dizzy anymore.”

“Ben,” Dean says, putting more sternness into his voice. “Get up on the bed.”

Ben drops his chin to his chest and slumps his shoulders. “Fine,” he mutters, shuffling forward like something out of the zombie apocalypse he’d been so worried about.

The nurse watches this with a raised brow. As soon as Ben sits on the bed, his legs dangling over the side, she backs out of the room. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”

Dean has been in enough emergency rooms in his life to know that’s a fucking lie, but he nods and collapses into the chair. Ben stares at his hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs. A soft murmur of voices comes from behind the curtain, and he tries to focus on it rather than the keening noise coming from Ben.

“Listen, buddy, everything’s gonna be—”

“I thought lying was wrong.” Ben’s mouth twists into a pout.

“It is.”

Ben clicks twice, working his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “Then don’t say things if you don’t know they’re true.”

“Ben, I don’t—”

Ben claps his hands over his ears and hums louder, and if there’s one thing Dean has learned, it’s how to pick his battles. There’s no point arguing with Ben when he gets like this.

Despite the hospital’s prohibition against cell phones, Dean digs his out and sends a quick text to Cas. It’s been an hour since Dean picked Ben up from school, and Cas will be heading home soon.         

While Dean focuses on his phone, Ben slumps over so he’s propped up on one elbow while still keeping his hands on his ears. He slits his eyes open and looks at Dean.

Dean flicks his eyes back to his phone as soon as he sees Ben watching him, and Ben sighs loudly before flopping onto his back. He clicks a few times before humming again. After a few minutes, he takes his hands off his ears and taps his fingers together—one right after another repeatedly—the same way he did when he was little. Dean frowns. He hasn’t seen Ben do that in years.

After the fourth change in position, Dean unlocks his phone and pulls up the puzzle game Ben likes. He holds it up in front of Ben’s face where he’s now upside down on the bed. Ben stares straight ahead as if he doesn’t see it for a few seconds, but when Dean doesn’t move it away, he rolls his eyes and takes it.

Focusing on the game—one which Dean has never figured out—seems to distract Ben from his grudge. After a few rounds, he shifts back to a seated position on the bed and swings his feet up onto Dean’s lap. “Dad,” he says without looking up from the game, “do you think Samson, Delilah, and Juliet watch Adventure Time while we’re not home?”

“How would they turn the TV on?” Dean has long since given up trying to make any sense of the random questions Ben asks.

“Delilah could stand on the remote. She stood on the remote in my room last night and the TV came on and Adventure Time was on. She likes Princess Bubblegum the best, but Samson doesn’t like her. He hisses at the screen when she comes on. He might make them watch something else.”

If Ben is thinking about this, he’s not focusing on whatever bad thing might come next. Dean will take that as a win. “Samson always struck me as more of a Marceline kind of guy.”

Ben looks up from his game long enough to roll his eyes before looking away. “I bet Jake and Juliet would be friends because they’re both dogs. Dogs gotta stick together. All for one and one for all.”

“Maybe. Finn would have his hands full.”

There’s a noise from the doorway and Dean looks up. A young doctor—not much older than Dean was when Ben was born—stands in the doorway flipping through a chart. He smiles when he looks up and sees Dean watching him.

“I’m Dr. Roberts,” he says, striding into the room. Ben doesn’t look up, and the doctor peeks at the phone. “I like that game, too.”

When Ben still doesn’t look away from the phone, Dean reaches out and taps Ben’s ankle. “The doctor is talking to you,” he says. Ben’s eyes don’t even flicker.

“I’m stuck on level 117,” the doctor says, pulling a rolling stool up to the bed. He waits until Ben glances up before he smiles.

“I’m on level 228. Cas can’t get past level 121. He’s not good at this game either.”

Dr. Roberts chuckles. “I heard you got dizzy today.”

Ben keeps his eyes pinned on the game when he answers. “Passed out and smashed my cheek on the heater.”

“Ben, look at the doctor when he—”

Dr. Roberts mouths _It’s okay_ to Dean with a slight shake of his head. “That sounds scary. Can you explain what happened?”

Ben recounts the entire story. He leaves out the part accusing Miss Morgan of plotting a zombie apocalypse, but he mentions the moldy soup in the workshop. That incident occurred over five years ago, but Ben never lets Dean forget it.

Halfway through the story, Ben finally looks up. When he’s done, the doctor listens to his heart and checks his pupil response before turning to Dean. “There are a couple different things we could be looking at. Often dizziness and even fainting spells are benign. Chances are good he had what we call a vasovagal syncope.”

Dean squints at the doctor. That sounds serious.

“Vasovagal what?” Ben says, setting the phone aside.

“Vasovagal syncope,” Dr. Roberts repeats, spinning back to Ben. “It means the body overreacts to certain triggers, like the smell of the paint, and causes heart rate and blood pressure to drop. That leads to a brief loss of consciousness.” He looks back at Dean. “I saw in his chart his blood pressure is on the low side. Is that normal for him?”

“He doesn’t get sick that often, and he hates going to the doctor, but it’s low when we go.”

“And he’s sensitive to strong odors?”

Ben leans forward as if he’s letting Dr. Roberts in on a secret. “Men’s bathrooms are yucky. I went in one at a truck stop and I thought I would vomit. Dad said to stop making the retching sounds but I couldn’t stop.”

Dean remembers that day. He misses the days when he could take Ben into the family restrooms.

Dr. Roberts bites back a smile and nods. “Yes, exactly like that.” He flips through the chart and looks back at Dean. “Some serious medical conditions can cause fainting, but 99% of the time it’s a benign syncope. Because we can rule out most of the major conditions with a blood test, I’m recommending we do a panel to be certain we’re not missing anything.”

Dean’s stomach clenches, but he also doesn’t want to leave the hospital without knowing Ben is okay. “Sure, yeah, we can do that.”

“Dad,” Ben says, leaning forward again, “no blood. I don’t like blood.”

“You won’t see the blood. The nurses will take the blood and you don’t even have to look at it.”

The doctor opens his mouth to say something—probably about the needles—but Dean shakes his head and the doctor nods. “Okay, well, I’ll put in the order for the tests and the nurses will be by to collect the sample. Should take another hour to get the results.”

“Okay, no problem,” Dean says. The doctor steps over to the other patient, and Dean wracks his brain for how to talk Ben into this.

“You said no shots today, Dad. You lied.”

Dean swallows a curse. “I didn’t lie. They’re not giving you any shots. They just need to draw blood.”

“But that’s still needles. I don’t want them to stick me with any needles. You know what happens when I'm in a sub-optimal situation. My eyeballs twitch and they roll back in my head and my throat closes up and I can’t breathe. You know I don’t like needles, Dad.” Ben’s voice gets louder with each successive statement.

Dean steps forward and wraps his arms around Ben’s shoulders. “I know you don’t, bud. Just try not to think about it right now. It’ll be a tiny stick and it’ll be over. We’ll be home before you know it.” Dean can tell his voice is taking on the pleading tone that signals he’s losing control of the situation.

Ben twists to yank away and almost falls off the bed. “That’s what you always say. You say it will just be a second but it’s not. The needle digs into my soul, Dad. What if I need that blood and they take too much? I could die.”

“They’re not gonna take too much. They do this all the time.”

Ben lets out a harsh laugh. “They torture children in their spare time?”

Dean’s self-control snaps. “Stop it, right now. You’re being difficult for no reason, so just knock it off. The nurse will come in and you’ll lay still and let her do her thing so we can get out of here and go home. Cas is waiting for us.”

Ben blinks a complicated pattern before screwing his face up to argue more. “But Dad—”

“If you’re good and let them do what they need, we can stop for ice cream and you can eat it in the car before dinner.” As soon as the words are out, Dean wants to take them back. Cas will be disappointed Dean fell back into bargaining with Ben. They’ve worked on this—not offering rewards after Ben is difficult—but Dean feels as if he’s backed into a corner and just he wants to go home.

“And have an extra thirty minutes of TV time?”

And that’s why they don’t bargain with Ben, Dean reminds himself. Because no matter what you offer, Ben always ups the ante. If you give him an inch, he doesn’t only take a mile. He also talks you into driving him the whole way and letting him pick the music. Dean imagines what Cas will say when he finds out, but he nods anyway. Cas is also the first to say ‘cut your losses and move on.’ “Fine. But you lay right there and you let them take the sample with no funny business.”

“Can I stay up past my bedtime?”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Don’t push your luck, kiddo. You’re about to lose the other offers on the table.”

“Okay, I’ll let them torture me.”

“Ben, it’s not tort—”

Two nurses appear in the doorway with a cart of medical supplies and Dean stops. Ben’s eyes snap to the doorway and widen. The humming starts again, interspersed with soft clicks every couple seconds. “Dad, I don’t think I can.”

Dean stands up and squeezes Ben’s hand. “You can do it. I’ll be right here and you can squeeze my hand if you need to.”

The nurses—Jenny and Megan—try to make small talk with Ben while they’re setting up, but Ben is silent. He watches them with big eyes, and his hand tightens around Dean’s every few seconds.

“Pick your legs up here and lay down for me,” Megan says, patting the pillow behind Ben.

Ben looks back and grips Dean’s hand tighter. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, bud. I’m right here.” Dean reaches down, picks up his legs, and pivots him on the bed. The nurse shoves two pillows under his back as Dean slides him up the mattress.

Jenny turns to Ben with an alcohol swab and runs it over the pale skin inside his elbow.

“It’s cold!”

Jenny chuckles. “A little. But it makes sure your arm is nice and clean.”

Ben looks at Dean before turning back to Jenny. “Do you have a cat?” he says.

Jenny’s brow wrinkles in confusion.  “I don’t. My sister has a cat, but I live in an apartment where I’m not allowed to have animals.”

The nurse obviously thinks Ben is making small talk to distract himself, but Dean knows Ben well enough to guess he’s leading up to something. Dean just isn’t sure what.

Jenny turns and picks up a flat length of purple rubber. “I’m going to tie this on your arm to make it easier, okay? It won’t hurt. Lay your arm out flat and keep it still for me.” She reaches for Ben’s arm, but he yanks it back toward his chest and curls into Dean’s side.

“I don’t want you to take my blood. We have blood for a reason and I don’t have any extra to give you.” Ben holds his entire body rigid so she can’t extend his arm.

Jenny purses her lips. “I’ll only take a little. You won’t even notice.”

Ben scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “I’ll notice. I keep a very close eye on my blood.”

“Ben,” Dean says, prying on his arm. “Remember what we talked about? On the way home?”

Ben clicks a rapid pattern before he relaxes, letting Dean straighten it out by his side. Jenny wraps the tourniquet around his thin arm and ties a knot above his elbow. Megan hands her the needle.

“Does it hurt more or less than a cat scratch?” Ben asks. He tries to pull his arm away, but Megan holds onto his wrist.

Jenny looks at Dean in confusion. “I’ve never had a cat scratch,” she says.

Ben trembles and wraps himself tighter around Dean’s waist. “Delilah scratches me all the time. We could go home and get her and she can scratch me and you can get the blood from that.” His voice shakes and the words are barely recognizable between the clicking.

Dean’s heart breaks at the fear in Ben’s voice. “It doesn’t work that way. They have to use the needle,” Dean says, wrapping his arm more firmly around Ben’s shoulders. He leans over, using his weight to pin Ben to the bed, and wraps his hand around Ben’s arm above Megan’s hand. She lets go and Dean slides it over his wrist. “Come on, Ben. You can do this. Just a second of being brave, okay? Cas will be so proud of how brave you are.”

“Are you sure I won’t die?”

Dean presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “I’m sure. I would never let anything happen to you.”

Ben trembles and takes a deep breath before pressing his face into Dean’s chest. “Okay, okay, okay.” He nods his head, smashing his face even harder, and Dean nods at Jenny.

She presses her thumb against the inside of his arm and slides the needle into his vein. Ben tenses and makes a soft keening noise, but he doesn’t pull away. Dean slides his free hand—the one not holding his wrist—up to cup the side of his head.

“You’re doing so good, Ben. She’s almost done. A couple more seconds and it will be over.”

Blood spills into the tube, and it’s full in less than ten seconds. Jenny takes the piece of cotton ball Megan holds out to her and presses it over his arm as she pulls the needle out. She applies a bright blue band-aid to the site and removes the tourniquet. “That’s it. All done,” she says in a bright voice. “You did great.”

Dean pulls his hand away from Ben’s wrist and lets him curl his arm. Ben holds on to him for a few more moments, humming loudly, before he pulls away. He leans back and opens his eyes. “That was horrible,” he says, his eyes narrowing at the Jenny. “Torturing children shouldn’t be a legitimate career choice.”

Her eyes widen and she steps back. Mortified, Dean sends her an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry, he gets a little dramatic sometimes.”

She looks between Dean and Ben—who is clutching his arm to his chest as if it’s broken—and shrugs. “It’s okay. You’d be surprised. He’s not the most difficult draw I’ve done.”

The two nurses pack up their supplies and leave. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and lets Ben slump against him. “You could have been nicer to her, you know. She’s trying to help you.”

Ben shrugs and fiddles with the band-aid. “She tried to kill me, Dad. If it wasn’t for you, she would have taken all my blood and sold it on the black market.”

“There’s no black market for the blood of annoying children.” Dean presses his fingers to his temples and rubs.

“Dad,” Ben whines, leaning back to glare at Dean. “You never know. It could be a conspiracy and we narrowly avoided it.”

Dean sighs and ruffles Ben’s hair. “Okay, you’re right. This was probably a close call.”

They pass the time until the doctor comes back by playing Unblock Me and talking about what Cas and the animals are likely doing. Dean sneaks another text to Cas, who assures Ben he fed the animals and that they’re anxiously waiting for him to get home.

“Good news,” Dr. Roberts says as he enters the room an hour and a half later. “Nothing came up in the blood work.”

“So it was that vaso-whatever thing?” Dean says, rubbing Ben’s head.

“Vasovagal syncope,” Ben mutters.

“Yeah, that.”

The doctor chuckles. “Yes, it appears so. There are other more invasive tests we can do, but I’m not recommending them right now. If he has these episodes more than once or twice a month—or is unconscious for more than a second or two—have your family doctor order more tests. But for now, you’re fine to take him home.”

Dean shakes the doctor’s hand. A few minutes later, a nurse comes in with discharge paperwork and Dean ushers Ben out of the hospital. Another in a long line of adventures with Ben. Never a dull moment. Dean starts the car and sends Cas a text to let him know they’re on their way home while he waits for Ben to put on his seatbelt.

“Hey, dad,” Ben says as they pull out of the parking lot and turn toward home. “Can I get sprinkles on my ice cream?”


End file.
